


the constellation of our hearts

by Starrie_Wolf



Series: Fic Exchanges [Starrie Wolf] [15]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek Hale, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, BAMF Stiles, Deputy Derek Hale, Derek is Not a Failwolf, Domestic Fluff, Focus on a nonbinary gender society rather than the sex ramifications of ABO (this is rated PG!), Full Shift Werewolves, Getting Together, Human Stiles Stilinski, I think I'm done with the tags now, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Magical Tattoos, Misunderstandings, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Non-angst misunderstandings, Presence of an original child character unrelated to any canon character for plot purposes, Spark Stiles Stilinski, Stiles Saves The Day, Werewolf Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-02
Updated: 2015-11-02
Packaged: 2018-04-29 14:44:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5131442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starrie_Wolf/pseuds/Starrie_Wolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Coming home from college, the last thing Stiles expected was to be stopped by a hot muscled stranger wearing a BHPD uniform, and he was totally ready to blast the guy in the face if he turned out to be yet another kidnapper looking to get his hands on a young active Spark.</p><p>Except Deputy Hale is real, and sweet, and did he mention <i>hot like burning</i>?</p>
            </blockquote>





	the constellation of our hearts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jsea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jsea/gifts).



> This was apparently an exercise to see how many requested tags I can feasibly squeeze into one story. I am very sorry that I cannot think of any reasonable way to work Peter in.
> 
> I'm sorry, I tried to research the Regency Era, but after two hours of floundering amidst peerage titles and the minutiae of Precedence I just couldn't do it anymore.

Deputy Derek Hale had officially passed the probationary six-month period at work.

In a town as small as Beacon Hills, this meant that he no longer needed someone – usually a hapless Parrish – to babysit him on even the most basic of patrol routes, but that he was still the one assigned to all the milk runs around town, such as the twice-daily patrols of the only highway leading from California to Beacon Hills.

Derek sighed as he cruised leisurely down the highway, on his last loop before heading back to town for lunch. It wasn’t that he minded being assigned the basic jobs, not really, since _someone_ had to do it after all. The hazing was (mostly) good-natured and he didn’t feel the need to walk on eggshells around the other officers, didn’t feel the need to hide who he was. For the first time since the fire, he felt like he might actually _belong_ somewhere.

Laura would have been proud.

He wound the window down, taking a deep breath of the fresh crisp air outside his cruiser. It was late morning on a sunny day in May, and Derek briefly wished that he could go for a run – whether in his fur or his human clothes – but he had a job to do.

His nose twitched.

Derek cringed instinctively, and his eyes actually closed for a moment before he steeled himself to pay attention to the road, despite the stench now invading his senses. He caught sight of his eyes in the rearview mirror, and was startled to notice the crimson glow reflected back at him.

To overpower his senses like that, that _had_ to be an illegal amount of marijuana.

The pungent smell was fading away gradually, almost like a visible scent-trail that lead unerringly back towards that blue jeep that just passed him by, headed in the direction of Beacon Hills.

Derek reached over to the dashboard and flicked on the switch for the flashing lights, speeding up slightly to trail behind the blue jeep.

To their credit, the driver didn’t speed up like many criminals would, but there was an almost palpable pause before the blinker lights came on and the jeep pulled up on the road shoulder. A young man climbed out of the driver’s seat, tugging his red hoodie closer to himself. His sleeve dropped a little as he raised his arm to shield his eyes against the sun, revealing black lines twined around a slim wrist in some kind of flowing script.

He didn’t smell afraid. A little indignant, maybe, shot through with a thread of confusion, but not afraid.

“Dude, what was that for?”

“Sir, I’m going to need to see your licence.”

As Derek came closer, the young man’s eyes narrowed, and then gave him a very obvious once-over. “Ooookay, got a badge, Mr Officer?”

Derek blinked, and then jerked a thumb back at the cruiser with all its lights still flashing. “That not good enough proof for you?”

The driver didn’t take his eyes off Derek. “Nope.” He popped the ‘p’, rocking back and forth on his heels, but keeping his hands easy and loose by his sides, as though he was so used to dealing with armed officers that his subconscious knew the best way to appear as non-aggressive as possible.

Rather than waste time arguing – up close, the marijuana stench was even stronger than ever, though at least it wasn’t emanating from the young man standing in front of him – Derek pulled out his wallet and flashed his badge. The jeep driver frowned, leaning forwards to read the details, and then strangely relaxed.

“Ah, that explains it,” he muttered to himself, gesturing cautiously to the open jeep door. “My licence’s in the car, can I go get it?”

Derek watched him carefully back away to the jeep, not turning his back on Derek for a moment, and retrieve a wallet. Instead of taking out just a driver’s licence, two cards were waved in front of his face. Derek’s eyes crossed at the long string of consonants that made up the driver’s first name, paused just long enough to verify the photograph against his face, and skipped straight down to the designation. In the space where his own ID would have stated “Werewolf”, the young man’s proclaimed proudly, “Active Spark.”

The second card was, as expected, an official licence for the trade and transport of large quantities of marijuana.

Wincing slightly, Derek handed the cards back to their owner – whose name he wasn’t going to even _try_ to mangle – and tried to think of the best way to apologise for his faux pas. Marijuana wasn’t just licensed for medical usage, but also for the more powerful young active Sparks to help them control their power until they could fully grow into it. Derek briefly wondered what the young man’s power level was, but it really wasn’t any of his business.

Before he could think of something to say, the driver laughed and scratched the back of his head. “No offence taken, officer. Wasn’t expecting a werewolf on the force, or I’d have put up a scent-blocking ward.”

He winked at Derek, getting back into the jeep.

Derek wasn’t blushing as he headed back to his cruiser. He wasn’t.

* * *

Only when the rear lights of the police car vanish from his sight did Stiles loosen his death-grip on the steering wheel. His magic was humming under his skin, an almost-living thing responding to the distress of its master.

After a moment to just _breathe_ , he hit the speed-dial for his father.

“Please tell me you have a Deputy D. Hale on the force,” he said as soon as the call connected.

“As a matter of fact,” his father replied cautiously, “I do. Hired him after you went off for your last year of college. Is there a problem?”

Stiles breathed out, hard, sinking back into his seat. “He _smelled_ my emergency marijuana stash while just passing by in the opposite direction on the highway! I didn’t even have the window down! Who _does_ that?”

His father was silent for a moment, and Stiles could almost see him shaking his head. “Alpha werewolves, apparently.”

Stiles groaned, because _oh man_ , not only was the hot muscled dude who just stopped him for suspected drug smuggling an actual officer instead of a kidnapper trying to lure him out of his jeep on some kind of pretence, he was also an alpha werewolf?

He had a, a _thing_ for partners strong enough to lift him off the ground, okay?

As though hearing his internal monologue – or maybe he was speaking out loud again, sometimes he still did that – his father sighed loudly. “I’m not setting you up with one of my deputies, Stiles.”

Stiles squawked indignantly into the phone as his father hung up on him.

Just for that, he was going to bring _turkey salad_ for lunch. With tofu.

* * *

When Derek got back to the station after lunch, the first thing he saw was the driver from earlier exiting the Sheriff’s office.

For a moment, all he could do was just _stare_ , because surely he couldn’t have gotten himself arrested _already_ , it had only been, what, two hours since Derek last saw him?

“Heeey, deputy.”

The dispatch officer on duty burst out laughing.

Derek sent her a confused look, but she waved him off, snorting into her own lunch.

“Oh shut up, Erica,” the young man muttered, shooting her a dark look.

Derek blinked slowly. Just _how often_ had he gotten arrested, to the point that he could call the deputies by name?

Before he could voice any of his questions, like _why_ was Stiles hanging around the station instead of legging it out of there like anyone else would have done, the phone rang.

Erica cackled one last time, and then picked up the phone. “Beacon Hills Police Department, good afternoon, how may I help you?” Her demeanour grew serious as she nodded slowly into the phone. “Please hold. Transferring you to the Sheriff right now.”

Derek frowned at her tone, at the way her heartbeat skipped in mild agitation, but she shook her head warningly before he could open his mouth to ask.

The door to the inner office opened, and the Sheriff poked his head out. “Stiles, Derek, can the two of you come in?”

Stiles. Derek committed the word to memory.

The newly-named Stiles gave the Sheriff a bemused look, but quietly followed Derek into the Sheriff’s office. His heartbeat barely ticked upwards as he crossed the threshold, reinforcing Derek’s impression that he spent a lot of time around the station, possibly even _in_ the Sheriff’s office itself.

The door shut behind them, and the Sheriff sighed as he sat back down, the frown lines in his forehead deepening as he gazed between the two of them. “Son, I’m sorry to have to ask this of you when you just got back, but a kid’s gone missing in the Preserve.”

“I understand,” Derek said at the same time Stiles asked, “What’s his – or her – name?”

The two of them exchanged bemused looks.

The Sheriff shook his head, looking like he wanted to roll his eyes in exasperation. “Monica Smith, normally goes by Mo. Seven years old, out hiking with her father in the Preserve. That was her Dad on the phone, swearing he only took his eyes off her for a moment – been missing for about half an hour or so.”

Stiles nodded absently, already running his finger over the map of Beacon Hills pinned to the wall. The sleeve of his hoodie fell away to reveal the black tattoos twining all the way up his arm, except they were now glistening with some kind of inner power. The runes _shivered_ , and then began rearranging themselves in some kind of complex pattern that was almost mesmerising to watch, if Derek wasn’t painfully conscious of the fact that his boss was in the very room and there was a lost child depending on them.

Stiles’ finger paused on an area of the map. “She’s here,” he stated with certainty.

Derek moved closer for a better look. Stiles was pointing at somewhere completely off the regular hiking trails, where Derek knew from experience to be a dizzying copse of trees and sharp dips in the ground. “I know the place. The ground’s very uneven, she might be hurt.”

Stiles spun around and made a beeline for the door.

“Then we’d better hurry,” he tossed back over his shoulder, and how could Derek do anything but follow?

* * *

If they hadn’t been in such a hurry, Stiles might have taken a moment to admire the way Derek’s ass filled out the uniform as he jogged through the Preserve, pausing every now and then to make sure Stiles was still following him.

They’d had to abandon the cruiser on the outskirts of the Preserve, and Derek was now taking them on what he said was a shortcut, straight through a thicket of trees that seemed determined to smack Stiles in the face with every single low-hanging branch possible, even with Derek leading the way and trying to hold them away from Stiles.

“You’ll be faster on four legs than two, won’t you?” he finally just blurted out.

Derek’s head jerked back around, and Stiles didn’t miss the way his eyes widened in surprise – but not, thankfully, offence. “Well, yes…”

“Then do it; I can keep up with magic.”

And then his brain was short-circuiting, because Derek was _taking off his clothes_.

Stiles swallowed convulsively, and couldn’t tear his eyes away from the vast expanse of muscles rippling down Derek’s back, from the hypnotic slither of the belt out of its loops, from the deafening rasp of the zipper being pulled down.

Distantly he thought, _oh, right, can’t shift with clothes on_.

He must have emitted a strangled groan, because Derek was twisting around to stare at him again, and there were two spots of colour high on his stubbled cheeks.

He wasn’t going to look down to see if that blush went down all the way. He _wasn’t_.

Stiles rocked back on his heels, and it took tremendous effort to keep his eyes fixed on Derek’s face at the unmistakeable sound of trousers hitting the ground, at the way Derek’s pupils dilated, just a fraction, the pupil swallowing up the iris like a lunar eclipse.

Derek stepped forwards, and for a wild moment Stiles thought Derek was going to kiss him. But then Derek was falling forwards, fur rippling down his spine, and in moments there stood a majestic black wolf before him, eyes glittering crimson.

Stiles swallowed, and then reached down to pick up the pile of discarded clothing without taking his eyes off Derek the entire time.

The wolf brushed past him, unnecessarily close, and his fur was soft, much softer than Stiles had expected. He didn’t know _what_ he’d expected – bristles, maybe? Like his stubble?

In two large bounds, Derek was gone, the undergrowth barely rustling in his wake, and Stiles shoved the thought to the back of his mind as his magic leapt from his free hand, parting the overgrown brush like the Red Sea for him to pass.

(Derek Hale wore boxers. He committed that titbit to memory.)

* * *

Close to the ground, the scent of a child in distress was much easier to pick up, and Derek was glad for the distraction as he wove through the trees, because otherwise he might have done something insane. Like pin Stiles against the nearest tree.

Stiles, who he’d just met a few hours ago.

Stiles, whom he knew nothing about except that he was probably a troublemaker who spent far too much at the police station.

Stiles, whom in those scant few hours he’d learnt was kind, and helpful, and whom the Sheriff seemed to be genuinely fond of – and the Sheriff, Derek had come to learn, was an excellent judge of character.

Stiles, who had stared at Derek like he wanted to drop to his knees there and then, but who’d kept his eyes politely above neck-level the entire time.

He burst through the last few bushes into a clearing, and was greeted by a startled high-pitched scream. Derek skidded to a halt, lowering himself into a crouch and trying to make himself smaller. It didn’t work very well – his wolf form was about half the height he was as a human, which meant he was bigger than the frightened girl cowering against the tree, and the sharp pointy teeth probably didn’t help matters.

It wasn’t like he could transform back either; a naked man probably _really_ wouldn’t help matters.

He could hear Stiles crashing through the trees behind him, muttering curses under his breath, and could only hope Stiles could do something to soothe the child.

A hand rested gently on the scruff of his neck as Stiles crouched down next to Derek, putting him at the same height as the girl. “Hey, Mo, right? I’m Stiles, and this is Deputy Derek – I promise he’s really a police officer, even though he doesn’t really look like one right now. We’re here to bring you to your Daddy.”

Monica continued crying, large tear drops trickling down her cheeks, smearing the streaks of dirt.

Stiles sighed, very softly. “No choice then,” he muttered to himself, and then his hand left Derek’s fur. From the corner of his eye, Derek spotted the tattoos winding back down his wrist, a bare moment before his nose was assaulted with the musk of _omega_ , overlaid with an ozone-and-earthen flavour that brought back stunningly sharp memories of racing with his siblings through the Preserve every full moon.

Before he could even react, Stiles had already crawled forwards on all fours, approaching the crying girl slowly. Derek tried very hard not to think of the way Stiles’ ass swayed in the air as he inched forwards, almost as though he was _presenting_ to Derek.

The girl sniffled, but she was staring at Stiles now, her sobs dying down. This time, when Stiles stretched out a hand, she took it.

“You smell like Mommy,” she declared.

Derek probably wasn’t meant to hear the quiet, resigned, “I suppose so.” Louder, Stiles added, “Yep, that’s right – let’s get you back to Daddy, okay?”

Monica’s face scrunched up again. “Hurts,” she whimpered, and from the way Stiles hissed and dropped to sit next to her, Derek guessed that she was indeed injured somewhere.

“This will feel a little funny, okay?” he warned, running a gentle hand over her shin. “There, all better now.”

The girl got to her feet shakily, and when her leg held her weight, threw herself at Stiles, who barely managed to catch her in time. Stiles hoisted her into his arms, and grinned back at Derek, his brown eyes sparkling with untold mischief.

“So, Mo, how about we get the big bad wolf to give you a piggy-back ride home?”

* * *

Watching Derek awkwardly attempt to wag his tail was hilarious, though Stiles wouldn’t dare to tell him that out loud. From the baleful glower Derek shot him – and who knew wolves could make faces so  _expressive_ ? – Stiles had the feeling Derek could smell the amusement on him anyway.

When they finally reached the edge of the Preserve, Parrish was already waiting at the spot they’d parked the police cruiser, the anxious father in tow.

Amidst the tearful reunion, Derek slipped away, his clothes carefully held in his mouth, and returned dressed in his uniform.

“So, Stiles, your Dad says he’ll try to get home earlier today, but there’s this gigantic mountain of paperwork on his desk when I walked past his office just now, so I’m not sure how early he can be.”

Stiles shook his head, smiling a little sadly. “Nah, tell him I’ll be fine, it’s his job.”

“What?” Derek blurted out, and then flushed a little when they both turned to stare at him. “You mean, the Sheriff is your _father_?”

Stiles blinked. “Uh, I’m pretty sure my licence said my last name was _Stilinski_ , like, you know, _Sheriff Stilinski_?”

They both ignored Parrish in the background, who’d asked, “Why was Derek looking at your licence?”

Derek’s cheeks were a fetching dark red when he answered. “I may have… seen an impossible list of consonants and just skipped the rest of it?”

“He called me _son_!” Stiles’ tone was incredulous, his arms flailing, and Derek had to side-step a finger that nearly poked his eye out.

“He calls everyone around your age ‘son’, including me!”

Stiles lowered his arms slowly, and _stared_ at him in abject confusion. “What did you think I was doing at the station, then?”

Derek winced, staring down at his feet, and Stiles would have to award him points for not even attempting to lie. “I… thought you’d gotten yourself arrested.”

Stiles dropped his head into his hands. Yup, definitely re-evaluating all his opinions on Derek Hale, who was apparently hot, competent, and had a brain – but only occasionally. In a muffled voice, he said, “I was _going_ to ask you out for dinner, but I’m not sure if I want to anymore.”

“Oh.” Derek’s voice was small, and he sounded completely crestfallen. Stiles peeked through his fingers, just as Derek opened his mouth again. “So if I were to ask _you_ out for dinner?”

He couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face. “Well, I suppose I could pencil you into my schedule.” Stiles’ voice was airy, but his tone was belied by the brilliant smile on his face. “When do you get off work?”

Derek paused, and Stiles could almost see the mental calculations going through his head. “Seven,” he finally replied. “Is that… too late?”

“I’ll just tell the Sheriff you already have other plans tonight, shall I?” Parrish wondered, largely to himself.

“Tell him I might not get home before he does!” Stiles winked at Derek, who did his best impression of a tomato, and made a mental note to test if the blush really did go down all the way.

(It did.)

**Author's Note:**

> I wailed, "Help I need a Sterek fic idea involving Magical!Stiles and Deputy!Derek in a completely AU setting" and Mo said, "Punk tattooed Stiles returning home from college a pot dealer, only to meet newly instated deputy?" So the OCC is named Mo in your honour, thank you.
> 
>  
> 
> [I have a Tumblr if you're interested!](starriewolf.tumblr.com)


End file.
